


New York Times

by MiHnn



Category: White Collar
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comedy, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/pseuds/MiHnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of un-related drabbles. Mostly Neal/Peter bromance and friendship. Not slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pufferfish Woes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts : Pufferfish Venom, Memorial Day, Logical

“It will _kill_ you.”

Neal looked at him in exasperation. “You won’t even try it?”

Peter shook his head. “Let me reiterate. It will kill _me_.”

His partner sighed, a sound he had gotten too used to hearing on the streets of New York. “Look, I owe you lunch, right?”

“Right.”

“And you won’t let me live it down until I do my part, right?”

“Right.”

“And you told me that I will have free reign to choose what you eat, right?”

Peter hesitated. “Right.”

Neal grinned. “Then it’s settled.” He gestured to the Japanese restaurant they were currently standing in front of but hadn’t stepped into during the past ten minutes. “After you.”

“No.” Peter glared at him, earning another low sigh. “I am not going to eat something poisonous.”

“It’s not poisonous,” Neal said in a tone that told Peter exactly how ridiculous his partner thought he was. “The chefs who prepare Pufferfish are artists. People don’t die from eating it.” Peter felt part of his apprehension leave him. “Every time,” Neal continued with a casual shrug. And the apprehension was back.

“No,” Peter said with determination. “I’m not going in there.” 

“Peter…”

“What day is it today?”

Neal shrugged, confused. “Memorial Day?”

“Exactly!” Peter said excitedly. “It’s a day to celebrate America by eating American food. Like burgers or hotdogs.” He looked at Neal expectantly; surely the thief would have to admit to his logic.

“Well,” Neal began, raising Peter’s hopes. “ _Technically_ , Americans didn’t invent the burger or the-“

“Okay, okay, enough.” Peter let out an annoyed huff of breath. He hated this. He hated admitting defeat. But most of all, he hated the positively smug expression Neal sported. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not eating with chopsticks.”

“Oh, Peter,” Neal said seriously while his eyes twinkled mischievously, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Peter Burke rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Without waiting for Neal he pushed the door open and went inside, promising himself to text his wife so she would know who to blame once he died of fish poison.


	2. On The Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts : Taj Mahal, Crossdressing, Dormouse.

“What are you doing?”

Neal squinted at the contraption he had made before deciding that the angle wasn’t right. “I am hunting a mouse.”

There was a pause behind him. “A mouse?” Mozzy deadpanned. 

“A dormouse, to be precise. I saw one last night.” Neal leant forward and fiddled with the contraption before stepping back to look at it once again. 

“That’s it, you need an intervention.”

Neal sighed as we stepped forward and knelt before the contraption once again. The angle still wasn’t right. “I don’t need an intervention.”

“Oh, I think you do. Do you know where we are? India! An exotic place that should be enjoyed not ignored to hunt down mice.”

“Dormice.” 

“Whatever you call the rodent.” Neal could hear Mozzy move towards the window as he continued to wriggle the wire. “Do you see what’s out there? The Taj Mahal. Man’s monument for true love.” 

Neal shook his head, knowing where his friend was going with this. “I’m not heartbroken, Moz.”

“Aren’t you? You don’t miss New York? Mr Suit? Mrs Suit?”

Neal stopped to sigh sadly. “Of course I miss them. But it was either this or prison. And Peter didn’t want me to go to prison.”

“Fine. Fine. Can you at least stop meddling with that thing so we could go to the airport in time?”

With one last twitch, Neal turned, and then stared. “Mozzy, what are you wearing?”

Mozzy looked down at the orange cloth he had wrapped around himself. “I’m glad you asked. This is a traditional Indian garb worn by men.”

Neal didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “It’s a saree.” He waited until Mozzy looked down to inspect the clothing. “Do you see that? The border? They only put borders for women’s sarees.”

Mozzy looked down once more as he studied the border. “Huh.”

A knock on the door made them both look up to see the hotel manager. “Excuse me, but your car has arrived.” He smiled at Neal and when his gaze turned on Mozzy, he froze.

“Well, thank you so much,” Mozzy said with as much confidence. “I hope you got our bags that we sent down. Neal?” With that, Mozzy walked past the hotel manager and left the room.

Neal grinned as he shrugged on his jacket. “You know how men like their sarees.” And leaving a confused manager, he stalked out after his best friend. Being on the run was tiring. At least he had someone entertaining to be on the run with.


End file.
